


cotton on.doc (Abandoned WiP)

by kayliemalinza



Series: Abandoned WiPs [8]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scruffington is the only decent sailor Jack manages to pick up in Tortuga, and he's a little suspicious of that. Set directly after the tavern scene in DMC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cotton on.doc (Abandoned WiP)

**Author's Note:**

> ABANDONED WIP

Given Norrington's drunkenness and previous disbelief in anything supernatural (though to be fair, Barbossa had sunk that ship a while ago,) one would think that he wouldn't cotton on to a plot to trade one-hundred souls to the amphibious Davy Jones in order to free Jack's precious own. But the wig didn't muffle the former Commodore's hearing as much as Jack would hope, and Gibbs tended to mumble portentiously while deep in his cups.

Norrington wasn't a fool either; blinded by arrogance, maybe, and dismissive of any source of information which didn't hold out its pinky when taking tea, and grossly susceptible to the wiles of women (though that had worked in Jack's favor, last time) and too sarcastic to hold a decent conversation with, and a violent drunk, and smelly, and rude, and, and, and Jack could ruminate for _ages_ upon the faults of James Norrington and not reach the end of the list, though it did make for a lovely waste of an afternoon. The point was, Norrington was damned inconveniently keen, and when one stopped to think about it, it _was_ rather suspicious that a couple of sea-salts like Jack and Gibbs would so grossly over-man a ship with cripples, idiots, and ancients.

So Jack had to offer him a deal.

*

The deal was a last resort, of course. Jack's first resort, if he were honest about it, had been to give Norrington a sharp kick in the arse, ideally while he was standing near the railing so his excessively long frame (it was simply bad manners to be so tall, one would expect an ostensible gentleman to know better) would topple overboard and Jack would be quit of the sot forever. Unfortunately, the majority of souls currently on the Pearl were no help at sailing whatsoever.

Most of his dependable crew had slunk away in Tortuga when it became apparent that Gibbs hadn't quite managed to get ninety-nine names, and Jack was far too crafty for anyone who knew him to think that they were safe if it turned out that Davy Jones could count and Jack was a few souls short. Normally Jack could make do with a steady crew of about six men, but any one of the new crewmen could ruin a day's work by sneezing, and had in fact demonstrated this ability several times—both as solitary efforts and in tandem—during the three hours since they had disembarked. Apparently a quiet cough could do the trick as well.

In short, Jack would have loved to kick the former-Commodore overboard or truss him up like a game hen and lash him to the bowsprit or simply stick him in the brig with a good thick gag, but despite being otherwise insufferable, the man damn well knew how to sail.

He also liked to keep a tight ship, regardless of the fact that the ship in question was Jack's. That fact should've been incontrovertible, really, since _everyone_ knew that Jack Sparrow was the rightful captain of the Black Pearl, and Norrington should certainly know it, considering he'd chased Jack and his Pearl all up and down the Spanish Main and up the coast of the Americas and even literally to the ends of the earth—Jack had wanted to bring back a penguin as a souvenir, but the buggers could waddle surprisingly fast, and though Jack's boots were the most stalwart companions a pirate could hope for, they were somewhat lacking in ice-worthy traction—and back again, until Jack wondered if the Commodore and his pretty-coated soldiers actually slept and ate or subsisted purely on the meat of their honour and stiff upper lips.

Jack preferred rum, himself.

The point _being_ , this was Jack's ship and not Norrington's, and there was a veritable cornucopia of reasons why Norrington should know that, not the least being that Jack had been standing at the helm for an hour and he cut quite the captainly figure indeed. It was a grand philosophical truth that no man looked so fine at the helm of a ship than the rightful captain did, particularly if he was in possession of the proper hat, which Jack was.

Apparently the hat was wasted on Norrington because he'd taken it upon himself to bully the sacrificial crewmen into a semblance of effectiveness. It'd taken him about five minutes to assume the role, being placed next to an old man with a crook while the Pearl was disembarking. After watching the travesty of coiling the cripple was committing, Norrington snatched the rope away.

"It's a simple manual task any fool could complete," he gritted out. "Tell me, have you sailed a day in your life?"

"I just wanted to see the world...." the man mumbled, watching the former Commodore yank and twist each length into submission.

"Trust me, man. The world does _not_ want to see _you_ ," Norrington replied, in a far crueler tone than was necessary. Jack rather liked that old cripple; not as a sailor, of course, but he'd likely make a fine drinking partner.

The old man, seeing no hint of softness in his tutor's face, shuffled off with his crook scraping against the deck. Norrington made his way down the rest of the line, recoiling the messes his fellow sailors—if one were to apply the term 'sailor' very loosely—had left behind. A desultory few were still gamely tangling away but gave up their stations at Norrington's succinct glare. One or two followed him with an eye to learn, sending furtive glances at the helm, where the Jack was talking to the old man with the crook.

Some time later, when James had finished the ropes and was better securing the longboat, Jack Sparrow approached him.

"Some of the crew have been complaining about your... abrupt manners," Jack said.

"Oh, _please_ ," Norrington drawled. "They went crying to you because I was _mean_ to them? This is a ship, not a nursery. Even if it is a pirate ship. I might add that belowdecks is in a horrid state."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Why don't you run along then and take care of that," he said, shooing Norrington away with both hands.

James gave a two-fingered salute and made his way to the gangplank, waving an acknowledgement to Jack's cry of, "And stop terrorizing my crew!"

Shortly after this, Jack hit upon his second resort, which was to hide James below decks as much as possible. Jack could stay above decks, where there was sunshine and a stiff Caribbean breeze to make his hair-beads clack (for Jack was not only captainly; he was _dashing_ and _rogueish_ and the wanton twist of hair in the wind was necessary to complete the effect.) If Jack was abovedecks, and James was belowdecks, Jack would not be annoyed by Naval imperiousness and presumptuousness and general scruffiness, for though it caused Jack a mighty pain to admit it, the former Commodore was a smidgen of a rogue himself.

He wasn't a lovable rogue, however. Jack was a lovable rogue, and endearing scallywag, and an all-around good time, but Norrington was just a brute. Thus decided, Jack bellowed for Mr Gibbs and set him to keeping the former Commodore out of sight. Jack was inclined to insure that Norrington stayed below by the swift application of a belaying pin to the skull, but it didn't take a canny, handsome man (though Jack _was_ canny and handsome) to realize that if Norrington hadn't swept across the deck the way he had, the Pearl would not have made it out of the harbour.

"S'only temporary, luv," Jack said quietly to the wheel, wearing his best 'please believe me, just this once' expression. He stroked his palm placatingly around a spoke and added, "'M thinking of you. This is better than being crewed by Ol' Octopus Beard and his fishy crewmen, innit? Innit?" The Pearl didn't answer, which was not surprising, because the Pearl was made out of wood. (With some metal bits mixed in. The metal bits were important, especially the ones that went _boom_.)

Jack draped himself comfortingly over the steering box and set his lips close to his bonnie's precious wood to whisper, "Don't you fret, miss, he'll be traded to Davy Jones the first chance I get."

It was a perfectly good plan, but like most of Jack's plans, it did him no good at all.


End file.
